Riding the Rap by Elmore Leonard Page B

fingers to slide the man’s eyelids back and stare at him before taking her hand away.
    She said, “Harry, you told me you transferred money from a Swiss bank to a bank in Rapallo. Not all of it, but enough, for expenses. Were you telling the truth, Harry? Yes or no.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo you do have money in the bank over there.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI don’t mean in Italy, I mean Switzerland. Do you have money in Switzerland, Harry? Yes or no.”
    â€œNo.”
    Bobby watched her expression, the fortune-teller frowning again, something not working here the way it was supposed to, the woman thinking hard now—look at her—wondering what to do next. Bobby turned to Chip staring straight ahead, said, “This is bullshit,” and Chip, annoyed, put a finger to his mouth the way he did before. Bobby spoke in a whisper with some force to it, saying, “Harry’s playing with her, man. You don’t see that?”
    Chip turned his head toward Bobby and said without looking right at him, “Will you shut the fuck up?”
    Bobby stared at Chip’s profile, the man looking straight ahead now, Bobby wanting to shove him against the door frame, hold him there and tell his bony face the show was over, man, forget it . . . But now the fortune-teller was speaking again.
    This Dawn Navarro saying, “Did you tell me you had money in a Swiss bank? Yes or no.”
    â€œYes,” Harry said.
    â€œYou mean a bank in Switzerland?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhere is the bank, Harry?”
    â€œIn Freeport, Grand Bahama.”
    Freeport, where Louis was from, the Bahamian Arabian. Bobby thought of it right away. But now the fortune-teller was lookingover here again, brushing her hair aside. Looking at you, Bobby thought. You see that? Sure of it as he watched her turn her attention again to the man in the recliner, lying there with his eyes closed.
    Dawn Navarro saying, “How much do you have in the account, Harry?”
    â€œI don’t know the exact amount.”
    â€œRoughly, how much would you say you have?”
    â€œClose to three million,” Harry said.
    Chip made a sound like he was letting his breath out. Bobby heard it, watching the fortune-teller, who was looking over here again, he believed smiling at him now, but he wasn’t sure.
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    Chip was gone before Bobby could stop him—while he and Louis were getting Harry ready to travel, covering his eyes and mouth and tying his hands with that silver duct tape. Bobby took Louis into the kitchen to tell him Chip was in too big a hurry; they should wait for dark to take Harry from the house. Louis said this was the way they planned it; all the trees and shit around the house, there was no way anybody would see them. He held up the keys to Harry’s car, saying, “You want to get rid of it, or you want me to?”
    â€œYou know how?”
    â€œIn my youth,” Louis said, “I boosted cars, sent them over to Nassau, Freeport, Eleuthera. . . .”
    â€œFreeport,” Bobby said, “where the guy has his money. You use to live there.”
    â€œThat’s a fact,” Louis said. “I been thinking on it. Do I know somebody knows somebody might work in that bank?”
    â€œYou didn’t say nothing to Chip?”
    â€œHe knows I’m from there.”
    â€œYeah, but you didn’t say nothing, did you?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œYou see a way to get the money?”
    â€œI’m starting to have an idea, yeah.”
    â€œWe should talk about it before you tell Chip anything.”
    â€œYou want to cut him out?”
    â€œI say I think we should talk,” Bobby said. He took the car keys. “You watch Harry. I’m gonna check on the fortune-teller, see how she’s doing.”
    Louis said, “You don’t have time for that.”
    â€œFor what?” Bobby said. “What do you think I’m